There were five cats who shared Theo’s home. All of them seemed to rather like their humans, and each one always had a lot to say. Jitterbug was young at just over a year old. She’d delivered her four kittens six months ago in a nesting box Jordan had set up for her in Theo’s bedroom closet. She was a small cat, not too much bigger than her still growing brood. She was a gorgeous tortoiseshell with long whiskers and an even longer tail. Theo recognized the cat by the sound of her voice, and when Jitterbug jumped up onto the bed, Theo smiled, feeling the slight weight of paws as the feline walked closer.
“Good morning, Mama,” Theo said, moving slightly so she could wrap her arm around Jitterbug and bring her close to her chest. The cat began to purr, and Theo buried her nose in the soft multi-colored fur.
Theo heard her phone chime quietly and she remained still, focusing on the vibrating furball cuddled next to her.
“You know I have to get that, right?”
Jitterbug continued to purr.
“Someone left me an email,” she told the cat. “Perhaps not as demanding as a phone call, but still, someone wants to tell me something. It would be rude for me to ignore it.”
“Mrow.” Jitterbug slow blinked before she pushed her face forward and licked Theo’s nose with a sandpaper tongue.
“Thank you,” Theo told the cat. “You’re very sweet. Now hang on. I’ll try not to bump you or anything.”
Theo reached over and took her laptop from the nightstand. She settled it on the bed and opened it just as Macarena hopped up and sank into the comforter. She was the color of a stormy sky, and her eyes looked like shiny gold coins.
“Well, it’s about time,” she told the small, gray cat. “You’re late, gorgeous girl. Come on,” she said, booting up her computer and moving her arm so that Mac could snuggle in. Theo glanced at her phone to check the time before she opened her email on the laptop. So far, this morning was progressing like most of the mornings before it. Theo had nothing against spontaneity, but there was something rather comforting about routine.
“Look, furfaces,” she told the cats. “There’s a message from Glory.”
She scratched Mac behind the ear as the cat made biscuits on Theo’s belly. She began to read.
My dearest Theodora,
I have a confession to make. I hate to admit it, but I do believe I have finally reached adulthood. I’d hate for this awful news to spread, but I fear it’s possible that I’ve been an adult for some time now. There is one thing I promised I would never do as an adult. I’m ninety-five years old, and so far I’ve managed to keep that promise. Because you, too, are an adult—albeit a very young one, and almost not yet qualified for the title in my opinion—I am going to share something with you. And because you aren’t a child, I’ll consider my record of unbroken promises still intact. Life passes in the blink of an eye, granddaughter, and there’s never enough time to do all you want, or to show those important to you just how much you love them.
When I was small, I remember the adults around me declaring how fast time moved. I was no different than any other young person who felt that the reality was just the opposite. When you are a kid, the passage of time is almost painfully slow. I remember school letting out at the beginning of June, and the days between then and Labor Day when the new academic year would begin felt like they lasted an eternity. My classmates and I couldn’t wait for that final bell to ring, and the first few weeks were pure joy … but as the summer wore on, the break began to feel almost too long, and I found myself yearning for the trip to Colorado Springs to buy clothes for a new school year.
It was frustrating, downright infuriating to hear adults who seemed to be unable to understand how unbelievably slow things happened. A day was long enough for me as a child, but a week felt like it stretched on and on. Waiting a year for something was nearly unbearable. It’s been nearly a year since I left Whisper Creek and damn it all if it seems as if I packed up my things just a few days ago. If the wrinkles I see on my face when I look in the mirror, or the distressing sounds my physicians make when I visit their sterile offices aren’t enough to convince me of my advanced age, it’s the fact that nothing at all takes as long as it should.
There was always something about every month that made it my favorite in Whisper Creek—every month except January and February. I think those months have always been the exception to the ‘time moves too quickly when you’re an adult’ rule. There is always too much snow and too much cold during those fifty-nine wretchedly long days. I love March and April because—while technically still winter—Mother Nature manages to push the season of spring forward, and there are signs everywhere you look that eventually, the earth will turn green again. In May, the snow still comes, but it melts quickly, and then the storms give way to rain. In June the lilacs bloom, and if you’re lucky, you get both lilacs and the Harison’s Yellows, even if it’s only for a week or two. There’s no better time of year for a cold glass of wine or raspberry lemonade out on the porch than July or August, especially as the sun is creeping toward the horizon and the sky is lit up with the millions of stars that shine down on the town. Need I mention how generous with the autumn colors the good Lord is in September and October? And I’m not sure there’s anything better than loading up the pit in the backyard with wood and watching the sparks from a fire float upward into a cold November night while you sit in an Adirondack chair with a blanket snuggled up beneath your chin. Campfires in the summer are fantastic, but they don’t quite possess the magic a near wintertime blaze holds. That brings me to December, and really the main reason for what’s become a very long-winded email.
London is truly remarkable at this time of the year. I know that we visited this city when you and I came to Europe the summer before your senior year of high school. I’ve always been grateful we were able to travel together but have often wished it had been over the holidays. This makes me wonder if you still have that enormous snow globe your seventeen-year-old self could not live without. I remember the song it played … “A Foggy Day (In London Town)”. When we came home, we sat down together and watched A Damsel in Distress and listened to Fred Astaire sing the song. London wasn’t foggy when we visited all those years ago, but it oftentimes is in December.
While I am tucking into mince pies, enjoying mulled wine and visiting Oxford Street with all of its glittering Christmas lights, I will be thinking of you tying bows on countless wreaths at Fireweed Farm and hanging the ornaments I’ve stashed in the attic on a tree you and our sweet Indigo Blue chose together—and one, no doubt, that Jordan Reilly planted, cared for and then cut—to stand in the living room that all of you share.
Theo shook her head and chuckled. “Well, it looks like Glory didn’t get the memo about cats and Christmas trees, huh?”
While the thought of five cats running around a tree made Indigo giggle, it was decided that the lights might be hazardous to the felines, especially when they decided the cords and bulbs would be fun to chew on, and said felines would definitely be hazardous to Glory’s collection of Christmas decorations. There were no cats at the Brubaker Building, however, and no one but the office staff was allowed access upstairs, so Jordan suggested they decorate the upper meeting room for the holiday.
I believe the time of the year has me feeling nostalgic. I have my friends and caregivers here, and there will be plenty of celebration, but there is nothing like family at Christmas time—even if things are more complicated than normal. Be patient, granddaughter, even when circumstances prove difficult. I’m no fortune teller, but I think it’s safe to say it will all be worth it in the end.
A reminder, then, before I end this note. Take a million pictures, and when you think you’ve taken a ridiculous amount, take some more. And when the urge to say something about how quickly time seems to be passing bumps up against your lips, make sure your sweet blue bird isn’t anywhere near. She’s still a child. Those words aren’t meant for her ears. Right now, her minutes, her weeks, her years are long, just as they’re meant to be.
Theo heard the scurrying of paws on the hardwood, and she braced herself. When Jupiter jumped on the bed, she and both cats moved as though they were in a boat on the ocean.
“Hold on,” Theo said, dramatically, and loudly enough that she was sure Indigo could hear her. “I do believe Indigo and Jupiter have arrived!”
“Hi, Antee,” Indigo said brightly as she ran in after the dog. She climbed up onto the bed and reached for Macarena who was still balanced on top of Theo’s belly. “Hi, Mac.”
The cat looked at Indigo through softly slitted eyes, and she began to purr the moment Indigo buried her small fingers into her silky fur.
“Good morning,” Theo told her niece.
“Do you have Jitterbug, too?”
“Right here, tucked in like a bug in a rug.” This made Indigo giggle. “Hello, Jupe.”
The black and white border collie’s ears perked up at the mention of his name and he tilted his head to the side. “Chuff,” he whispered.
“Did you have a good night?” Theo asked the dog. “Did you sleep well?”
A quiet whine emerged from the back of Jupiter’s throat.
Theo gave the dog a nod. “Excellent. I’m happy to hear it. Who’s hungry?”
“I am!” Indigo hopped up onto her knees and Jupiter moved to boop the child’s cheek with his cold, black nose. “That was wet, Jupe,” she giggled again as she swiped at her face with her palm.
Theo closed her laptop and stretched to place it back on the nightstand. Jitterbug took this as an indication that soon her breakfast would be served and she stood up, arching her back in a mighty cat stretch.
“Okay,” Theo said, lifting Macarena and bringing the cat to her face as she sat up. She rained kisses on her furry gray face before placing Mac on the bed beside her. “Let’s go eat. Then it’s time for school.”
“Ah, man,” Indigo groused, sliding from the side of the bed. Her bare feet landed on the rug covering the wood floor. “But school takes so long. It lasts forever.”
Theo smiled, thinking about Glory’s email. “Somehow I knew you were gonna say that,” she said as Jupiter jumped off the bed and ran toward the landing. She followed Indigo out of the room and watched as the child made her way down the stairs. Things were as they were supposed to be. At least for the moment, anyway.
2. LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION
